


Aurora Borealis

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Familiars, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Rating May Change, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:50:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, famous and renowned wizard, has decided to chose a protégé from two candidates-- Yuuri Katsuki, and Yuri Plisetsky. Awkward and fumbling, Yuuri's magic often loses strength due to his frustration and nervousness, while Yuri's spells often quite literally blow up in his face due to his intensity and anger. 
After a competition of skills that ends in Yuri's defeat, Viktor assists Yuuri in honing his skills, while romance blossoms between the two.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's a shit ton of other Yuri!!! On Ice fics out there, but I hope you enjoy mine, haha. If you do, please leave comments/kudos!!! It really means a lot to me, and lets me know you want me to add more chapters and continue it

Violet fades to lavender as threads twine together to form rope, stretching out towards the cloudless pale blue of the horizon as if pulled upward and taut by some unseen force rather than ejected skyward from the tips of the silver-haired prodigy’s fingers. Like the ends have been set aflame, fuschia sparks erupt from the vine-like extension without so much as assistance from a single matchstick, exploding in a frenzy of snapping and popping while splitting off into additional fireworks just as the strands seem prepared to fizzle out. When at last the remnants of the final bursts ghost to nothingness, Viktor Nikiforov lowers his hand, briefly shadowing the angled lines of his young face before extending it towards the audience in a gesture of welcome.

“Ladies,” Viktor says, eyes scanning the crowd as though they’re making contact with every girl and woman in its confinement. “And gentlemen,” he continues, eyes sweeping back the opposite direction.  When they pass over Yuuri’s, he feels his cheeks begin to burn despite the autumn chill. It’s as if Viktor’s eyes have lingered extendedly on Yuuri’s face for however much longer, be it a millisecond or three; for the moment of ocular contact, time seems to be frozen despite the fiery spectacle that had ended only a minute prior. Yuuri is locked into place by the ice of Viktor’s eyes, ice that is not doing its job of cooling Yuuri but rather warming him past the point of comfort. Just as he feels he is about to boil, the other boy’s eyes move past him to finish their take-in of the audience, leaving him with his heart swelling to the point it has taken up his entire chest and stolen his breath away. 

Viktor tilts his torso forward in a bow, craning his neck so his words can be broadcast clearly to the audience as he speaks, voice likely amplified artificially. “Hello and welcome! This show is under the theme of two of the four elements-- fire and water. While they are opposites, I hope to show you how they may work together in harmony, as well as give and take life from one another. Water is often associated with the color blue, and fire with red. Combined these two elements make purple, the color of my magic, which is why they fascinate and inspire me so much.

“Fire is often seen as a destructive element, but it is also associated with warmth, and water is characterized as peaceful, yet when it forms ice it can be callous and deadly. Both are extremely beautiful, forming wonders of the world such as volcanoes, oceans, and my personal favorite-- hot springs.

“I hope you will enjoy the program thoroughly, and thank you so much for coming this afternoon!” 

There is a moment of silence, a calm before the storm of applause that comes immediately following Viktor turning on his heel, revealing the back of his costumed to the audience. A seemingly ordinary tailed tuxedo from the front reveals a folded pair of white wings when seen from the opposite side, their layered feathers so downy and lifelike Yuuri wonders for a moment if the performer hasn’t grown them himself. Before his eyes they unfurl, rising off his back and fluttering delicately in such a way that calls to Yuuri’s mind a faerie or butterfly more so than a bird. Viktor takes one step away from the audience, and immediately following the heavy strike of his foot against the ground, a trail of purple fire begins to blaze behind him, violet flames licking the stage without so much as a shred of damage. As he struts forward, the crowd inhales a collective gasp as they begin to realize he’s not walking on the stage but  _ up _ an invisible staircase, knees bending ever so slightly to indicate that it isn’t simply an ascending incline. As he does so, the wings on his back flit lazily, as though they are simply assisting in his gravity defiance rather than supporting it completely. The line of flames follows him as he ascends, retaining its distance of milimeters away from Viktor’s heel until at last, he stops atop a platform that isn’t there to pivot towards the crowd once more. 

Yuuri hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath; a sect of his consciousness not hyperfocused on the spectacle before him had been terrified for Viktor’s safety. Although it is nearly impossible the teen will fall-- a prodigy such as himself possesses the ability to keep himself suspended mid-air with ease-- there is still the slightest of possibilities that should Viktor’s concentration be critically challenged, he’ll lose focus for just long enough to send him plummeting. All of Yuuri’s anxiety rushes out of his body in a particularly lengthy exhale, however, at the sight of the silver-haired boy facing forward. His grin is triumphant and satisfied, and as he puts down his left foot the flames that had been trailing Viktor’s movements encircle him, bringing to Yuuri’s mind the image of a demon spell-bound in the circle he had been summoned within. The image is quickly corrected, however, to that of an angel; with the feathery snow-white wings beating a silent rhythm and the ethereal beauty the other possesses, that of a seraphim is much more akin to what Yuuri sees in front of him. Viktor’s grin, moments before radiating blistering heat via confidence, dips into serenity, a peacefulness further ensued by the relaxing of his features and eyes. He brings his hands above his head, extended skyward; the tips of his slender fingers seem to be brushing against the sun itself. And as he turns his palms inward and begins to slowly bring his arms downward, his hair begins to change. Where his palms cross in front of his hair, the silvery strands blend together until they are something entirely unrecognizable. Clear and flowing, it takes Yuuri a moment before he realizes what Viktor’s hair is morphing into-- water. Water that somehow defies gravity along with Viktor himself, remaining perfectly stagnant and retaining the shape of the other’s hairline as centimeter by centimeter, the length of Viktor’s hair turns to liquid. As his hair reaches his waist, the anticipation of what will happen when his palms cross in front of the ends is prolonged. Just as the majority has been liquidized, only a few centimeters remaining, the water begins to flow, free falling until it reaches the border of hair and water, where it stops as if met by a blockade. 

While the water is churning and bubbling at the boundary, Viktor extends his arms brings with all the grace of a ballerina, fingers pressed flush to one another and hands poised aerodynamically as though the air is an obstacle to be cut through. His arms reach their full extension, and immediately as they do so, the water begins to flow downward, frothing white due to the pressure. Someone murmurs “waterfall,” voice quiet and dream-like and dazed, and the crowd hums in agreement and awe. The rushing water tumbles to the floor, extinguishing the fire around Viktor with a  _ hiss _ . It is only after the water has pooled around him that Yuuri notes his hair has returned to its regular cascade, and that Viktor is hovering above the water without so much as a drop on him. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the fact, though, as there is another change occurring-- the pooled water is crystallizing, hardening, turning to ice before the audience’s very eyes. The sheet of ice is sizable-- the water had spread within a large radius with Viktor at its center, an ice rink in mid-air. And indeed, when Viktor lowers himself to stand on the rink, his shoes have turned to skates. There is the sharp, jagged, noise of blades cutting into ice as Viktor brings one skate forwards to push off into a glide. One foot crossing over the other, he turns at the edge of the makeshift rink, escalating in speed before leaping upwards and performing a spin mid-air before returning to the ice. 

Yuuri knows it’s magic that is keeping Viktor from falling or spilling onto the ice only to be bruised or broken, knows it’s not quite pure talent for skating in the works, and yet he’s impressed beyond measure-- a boy only four years his senior gliding and spinning without flaw on a rink of ice suspended high off the ground made of water conjured by magic and frozen by it. What it could be like to be that accomplished at skilled at such a young age he can only imagine, what it would be like to be above and in front of a crowd going wild with applause, all for  _ you.  _ And then his thoughts begin to take a different turn-- what it would be like to  _ know _ someone of such immense talent, to be looked at with those eyes that seem to meet each individual face in the crowd with such intensity Yuuri is sure he isn’t the only one who feels as if Viktor is looking directly into his soul. Unconsciously, Yuuri’s face has become slack with awe, mouth open and eyes unblinking as he gazes at Viktor, who has lifted one slender leg into an arabesk. It isn’t the chill that has caused a flush to spread across Yuuri’s cheeks, nor is it leftover from the blazing fire. He finds himself enraptured by the performance, so much so that he nearly forgets to breathe throughout the remainder of the show, forgets any of his surroundings, forgets he’s in the center of an audience watching Viktor, forgets Viktor is not performing only for him. 

By the time Viktor has finished skating, lit a fire underneath the rink until the ice has vaporized into smoke and shrouded the boy until only a silhouette remains, Yuuri is already contemplating whether magic is something he could be able to do as well. It isn’t unheard of, magic developing at ten years old-- he’s read stories about even adults finding out they are wizards after an entire non-magical life. The rising fog accumulates into clouds, and the audience gasps in anticipation of a shower, but when they open their floodgates it isn’t rain that pours down but glitter, and the round of applause as Viktor bows on the corporeal stage isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yuuri’s thoughts. 

  
  
  


***

  
  


Yuuri’s next six months are spent hunched over textbooks and tomes on magic, practicing hypothetical forms and incantations rumored to help cultivate powers, and above all, coercing his mother and father into bringing him to each and every one of Viktor’s performances within a realistic range. It appears fruitless-- by the time he’s nearly eleven, Viktor’s fame has only increased, as have the intensity and difficulty of his spectacles, and Yuuri cannot so much as procure a spark from his fingertips. Try as he might, the hours spent studying and attempting magic produce no results, and around him, his friends Yuuko and Minako have begun developing their magic slowly but surely. His parents offer to have him pick out a familiar-- a poodle he names Vicchan, after Viktor and his famed familiar of the same species and breed, though Yuuri is aware that to him, a non-wizard, Vicchan will only be a dog. 

The months pass and the posters and drawings of Viktor covering his walls increase until there’s nearly no space left. It’s one night, out of frustration and exhaustion after doing a series of exercises meant to open up his chakras or something along the likes of that, that he goes downstairs for dinner, only to find his favorite dish, a pork cutlet bowl, has gone cold. It’s the icing on top of the cake, he thinks, picking up the bowl of food to throw it away. Only, before he arrives at the trash bin, he drops the bowl in shock and pain-- the ceramic has heated to the point it is burning his skin. Sighing, he lifts the finger to bring it to his mouth to soothe the pain, when he realizes first that his finger is ablaze, and that the fire itself isn’t injuring him, and second that the flames are  _ blue.  _ A particular color blue, icy despite the heat generated from the flames-- the color of Viktor’s eyes. 


End file.
